


An Unbreakable Union (Onyx Shade Mix)

by Starcrossedsky



Series: Onyx Shade Mix [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (nothing actually goes wrong), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soul Bond, alternate universe - dragon/rider, giving a shapeshifted dragon a handjob in ishgard?, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky
Summary: You hoped that you could defy the pull of gravity forever, but life simply isn'tlikethat.If only the dragon in question had any more idea what's going on than you do.(Or: I fucking love dragon/rider soulbond AUs, it really was only a matter of time.)





	An Unbreakable Union (Onyx Shade Mix)

**Author's Note:**

> Setting notes; same geography (basically), similar politics, lower magic (basically, magic isn't accessible to most human-type races). Slightly more different from canon than just "the au ra are dragons now."
> 
>  ~~Two more parts to come, I think. Please look forward to it. Also, um, the full dragonfucking to come. Please look forward to it.~~ I lied, I think it's actually done for now.

The first time you run into the dragon in the woods, you're maybe ten years old. Maybe eleven. It's hard to remember, now.

You weren't lost, exactly - you'd stayed on the trail and were only an hour or so of hiking into the woods, so if you went one way without seeing anything familiar, you knew you'd have to turn back the other. You weren't _worried_.

In the stories, such dramatic, fated encounters happen during a stormy night, not in the afternoon beneath a patchy blue-and-overcast sky. One or both of you is injured, and you have to overcome your differences in order to take care of each other.

This story is nothing like that. It's quite simple, really. You see a flash of white out of the corner of your eye, you turn to look, and there's a bloody dragon there. White crest and chest, black everywhere else, half-hidden in the shadows of the forest. Your memory makes it bigger than it was; realistically, it wasn't even the size of a pony, probably had a shoulder at the same height as yours.

You absolutely do not stick around to find out. You turn around right then and there and run nearly straight to the edge of the woods, pulse pounding and pack bouncing the entire way. Only then do you risk glancing back, to discover - thankfully - that the dragon is nowhere in sight.

You never hear reports of anyone else seeing it, either, but you still don't go back to those woods for a long time.

\----

The second time you run into the dragon, you're fifteen and just entering the awkward gangly phase of your growth spurt. You're hungry for more than an orphan's budget allows and small forest animals are tempting enough that you're willing to risk the woods again. 

None of your arrows match, but they work well enough, even the couple that you had to re-fletch yourself after finding them discarded or lost in the woods. You set up a couple traps for rabbits on your way deeper along the trails and you're sighting down a fat pheasant when you see - 

A flash of white, too big for a bird. 

The bow is only half-drawn when your finger slips from the string, the arrow shooting off a short distance but nowhere near far or hard enough to reach your target. At least it's easy to retrieve; you dart over and nock it again, eyes on where you saw the movement.

Not that it will do you much good. You're a decent shot, but not good enough to put a dragon's eye out, and that's about the only part of them that's vulnerable to a cheap bow like this. Master archers can target and puncture some of the thinner patches of the scales, but you?

Well, if the dragon - and it is definitely a dragon, significantly larger than you even if not full grown, head snaking out of the bushes - decides to go after you, you're just kind of screwed. It's not like dealing with a _bear_ that you can just scare off by making loud enough noises and pretending to be twice your size. Dragons aren't stupid enough to fall for that.

What is one even _doing_ here, anyway? Dravania is far enough to the west that you don't have to worry about the war out in these woods, and to the east...

Well, there's not dragons to the east until somewhere on the far side of Gyr Abania, which is even further away than Dravania. As the dragon stands, though, you can't deny that it doesn't _look_ like a Dravanian; too thick in the chest, and the wings fold wrong, too tight against the long black body. And the neck is long, long, long...

It stays standing there, looking at you, as though waiting for something, and that's when you realize that it's the _same dragon_ you saw a couple of years before, grown larger in the forest. How the hell hasn't it been discovered yet?

Something in you pulls. Something... You jerk your head away, as dangerous as it is to take your eyes off a dragon, because you have a _perfectly healthy_ distrust of magic and you can tell when it's happening at you. 

The dragon snorts - not like some kind of beast, but like it's laughing at you. Careful to keep from looking it in the eye, you give a withering look to somewhere about the white splotch across its chest.

"Leave me alone," you tell it, and then you bolt again. This time, though, you have your wits about you enough to listen if it follows, and it doesn't. Still, you stay out of the woods for a couple hours, until your stomach gets the better of you again and you go to check your traps.

Most of them are empty, but the second-to-last one you check has a broken-necked deer laying on top of it. 

Or, well, most of a deer - half the hindquarters is missing, leg and all ripped off.

Bloody dragons.

\----

You have a couple more similar run-ins over the next few years. Midway through your seventeenth, they stop happening - well, sort of. You begin to start having run-ins with a white-beaked black eagle, instead, which tends to soar over settlements where you're staying and hang out in trees above you when you're hunting.

At least at this point you know it _definitely_ isn't Dravanian. There's all sorts of powers ascribed to their sort, but shape-shifting isn't one of them. People turning _into_ dragons, sometimes, but not dragons turning into anything else.

It's only once every couple of months, so at least the damn thing isn't completely stalking you like you were first afraid of. It likes the woods, and usually follows you around for a day or two before taking wing off somewhere else. Once, you're annoyed enough to try sighting it down with your bow, but before you can even nock the arrow properly your hands start to shake. As soon as you let your intention point elsewhere, the jitters stop.

 _Fuck_ magic, anyway.

The spring of your twentieth year, though, you get fed up with not knowing, and so you wind up going back to where you were born. Ishgard, with its spires of frostbitten stone, its libraries and training grounds for would-be dragonslayers.

You're not interested in slaying the dragon; you just want to find out what it _wants_. If it's stupid enough to follow you into the city, though, that will be the end of that.

\----

The libraries of Ishgard don't help overmuch. They're too focused on the Dravanians - ancient, nearby enemy that they are. Finding information on other kinds of dragons takes _digging_ , and sometimes questioning obnoxious, pointy-eared librarians who don't particularly want to share anything with an outsider, even one with enough of a native accent to convince the guards.

You're able to pinpoint a region, at least - the wild steppes, far to the east, that don't seem to have a name on any of the maps you can find. It makes the whole thing all the stranger, because there's an entire unfriendly continent between here and there. You're only even able to get that much, not because of the shape of the dragon, but because of the bird form it takes, a swallowtailed eagle that is, apparently, naturally scalloped grey in coloration.

You're on your way back to the inn, planning to pack up and leave, when a rough voice behind you says, "Are you ever going to even _look_ at me?"

The sound puts a shudder through your body like someone's slipped a live snake down your spine, and you turn.

Instantly, you regret it.

The figure is mostly hidden beneath a drab cloak, but he has head and most of his shoulders on you, so you have to look _up_ into the hood, and that's the mistake. Brilliant blue-green irises, sandwiched between half-open slit pupils and black sclera, set in an ice-pale face - 

A pale, honestly rather handsome face, framed by thick black horns. Your knees go weak, nearly out from under you, and you _know_. Something in the rotten husk of your soul is set alight, and you want to either burn or drown in it.

At least the dragon seems to be experiencing the same, if the way his eyes go wide and his pupils go narrow is any indication.

You, however, are deathly pragmatic no matter what supernatural rush of pleasure fills your bones, and you force your body into motion to grab him by the front of his cloak. "You _imbecile_!" you find yourself hissing. "This is _Ishgard_ , do you have any idea what the knights would - come on!"

Even as you yank him along by the cloak, you wonder why you aren't just leaving him in the street. You're not under draconic hypnosis, as far as you can tell - you have no trouble breaking gazes with him as you start in the direction of your (cheap, no-questions-asked) inn, and you certainly aren't paralyzed. But you still _feel_ him right behind you, even after you let go of his cloak because he's caught on.

Fortunately, no one in the common room even glances at you as you herd him up the stairs. Even in the short week you've been here, it's not the first time you've brought back a hooded, much larger man. You've always liked them big, and Ishgard is at least good for _tall_ even if the residents tend towards the skinny side.

It's not even the first time you've brought a man up to your rooms without knowing his name. You have the feeling you probably owe it to this one to get an introduction, though.

"It's Sidurgu."

You've barely got him through the door of the room, but you pause to stare anyway. He shrugs, a little sheepishly, under your gaze. It occurs to you that it is very strange for a dragon to seem sheepish. "My name. You seemed like you wanted to know."

"...Did you _hear_ me?" you ask, because that does seem like a bloody pressing matter, if however your world just reoriented itself now includes him in your _head_.

"...I might have?" he says, sounding unsure. "I don't know. The thought was just _there_."

You consider glaring, but sigh instead, elbowing past him to make sure the door is closed and locked. After a moment of consideration, you shrug off your own cloak and edge it up under the bottom of the doorframe to keep the sound of your voices in as much as you can. It's still Ishgard, even in the cheap inns. If they knew you had a dragon in here, of all things...

"Fine, okay," you say, because he seems as confused and yanked into this as you are, in spite of everything. "I'm Fray. You might have already known that."

He just nods, and shrugs the cloak off his shoulders. For a moment he seems completely lost on what to _do_ with it, so you take it from him and throw it over a hook. Underneath, the clothes he wears are unmistakably foreign, mostly patched together out of hides, and very much not adequate to the weather.

 _Attractively_ not adequate to the weather, though. Damn. Even with the unnaturally pale skin, the patches of scales, and everything else that's still draconic to an obvious degree, you can't say that you wouldn't have tried to bring him up here in different circumstances.

It's rather uncanny, actually, now that you think about it, like the form was tailor-made for you on some subconscious level. If Sidurgu notices you staring, he doesn't seem to care, just throwing himself on the bed with a sigh. You're almost distracted enough by the expanse of his back to not notice the tail sticking through the back of his pants.

"Not to be rude or anything," you say, "but actually, to be _very_ rude - what the fuck, exactly, is going on?"

He rolls over, just a little, to look back at you. "You think I know?" he says. "I was hoping that tracking you down and actually making you _talk_ to me would give me the answers! You think this - " He rolls a little more onto his side, gesturing up and down his body. " - was easy? I didn't spend a year and a half trying to turn myself into something squishy and flightless for _fun_."

And he didn't even completely manage it, but since you didn't seem likely to give him the time of day otherwise - they're thoughts from him, you realize, accusatory like snapping jaws, defensive and a little ashamed. It's not like you hear them in words, but they just... bubble up like they belong there, drifting alongside your own thoughts.

Okay, fine. At least whatever put him in your head goes both ways. You both hope he isn't listening particularly closely to the thoughts making your pants tight over the last few minutes, and kind of hope he is, given that not actually managing to be completely human seems to embarrass him.

You're still kind of pissed, though. "What makes you think _I_ have the answers?" you half-snap back at him. "I'm not a bloody dragon. I'm not even _magical_ , I'm just some poor street rat who managed to get a bit good at hunting because it was that or starve - "

"But you felt it too!" he almost - but only almost, thankfully - shouts. "That stupid _pull_ , whatever it is, except you tried to fight it - "

"Can you _blame_ me?" you hiss. "I'm _Ishgardian_. Dragon-hating capital of the world, where we _happen to be sitting_ , in case you haven't noticed. I thought it was just - some dragon thing, to make people stand still so you can eat them."

That gets you wide eyes, and then, finally, a snort. "Do I _look_ like I eat people?"

"In your _real_ form you do," you mutter, but it's more resentment at being teased than anything. It's much easier to think of him as a person now that he vaguely looks like one, and the only way you can imagine him eating you is - 

With a groan, Sidurgu rolls over and buries his face in the pillows. "That's _definitely_ from you," he mutters. "I've never thought of a human that way in my _life_."

"Sorry," you mutter, absolutely not meaning it.

"Bullshit you are," he replies. "Stop thinking about my mouth there."

You laugh. "Not a godsdamn chance. If the universe is going to saddle me with you, at least I'm going to enjoy the view."

You get a growl in return, one definitely not going to pass for human any time soon, and that just makes you laugh more. Especially because now you know he's wondering.

What the hell. You've never been particularly pious anyway, and you can't imagine coming back to this city any time soon. Maybe ever, if you can help it. One final fuck you to it won't go amiss.

Sid's rolled over to look at you again. His eyes are the most brilliant color you've ever seen. 

_What is this idiot thinking?_ rolls through the inside of your skull without prompting. You roll your shoulders, stretching, smirking, and you can answer at least one of his unasked questions. 

"Want to find out?"

\----

He's a sorry kisser and he doesn't have the faintest idea how to touch or hold you, but he's also the hottest thing alive. That goes a long way, and you can always teach him technique _later_. Plus, by all indications, he's a quick learner.

Or at least, he figures out grinding halfway into your makeout session, from either your thoughts or your actions, and you honestly don't give a damn which one. It's good. It's _really_ good. You only stop because you really, _really_ want his clothes off.

He turns out to not have nipples, which is mildly disappointing, but only encourages you to get more inventive with your foreplay, which is probably a good thing in the long run. The non-scaly parts of his skin take quite well to hickies, though. You give him plenty, drawing not-quite-human noises out of him until you can't stand it anymore and have to strip the rest of him.

He starts getting engaged with taking _your_ clothes off about then, too, which is a delight. His fingers have just enough claw till on them to scrape more than pleasantly up your sides as he pulls your shirt up. You never would have thought a dragon could be _gentle_ like that - 

A snort, into your collarbone as you straddle his lap, indicates that _that_ thought crossed the gap. "We're not. I just - I don't know what you can take."

You're not a dumb teenager anymore to reply _whatever you can dish out_ , but the thought is there, however briefly. It's only brief, though, because even in this form - with both of you mostly naked, you're well aware that he has not only size on you, but enough muscle to bend you in half. Even the thought of _that_ is almost obnoxiously arousing.

The fact that he cares so much about hurting you is weirdly sweet, too. Then again, this - whatever this is, it's going to be more than a one night stand.

"We'll figure it out," you tell him, meaning all of the weirdness that brought you to this point, but also this moment that you don't want to leave. "Come on, help me get these pants off."

He does. You run your fingers over the scales on his hips before you push him down again, kissing him, rolling your hips, and oh thank the gods there _is_ something to get erect down there, you were a little worried at first glance.

Not that you would have stopped, mind, as long as he still seemed into it, but dragon genitals are another thing that the Ishgardian libraries (perhaps understandably) don't cover. You had no idea what to expect, but were willing to accept pretty much anything that didn't have spines. 

You slide a hand down between you, exploring by tactile feel. Hmm, a little longer, a _lot_ more tapered, thicker at the base without too much of a head... Some folds of skin around the base, not unlike the handful of times you've wound up in bed with men who weren't built like men, so probably some kind of genital covering there when it's not in use.

Sid keeps making gasping noises under you as you explore, especially when you curl a finger in under the edge and run it along the inside. He's absolutely _quivering_ , and it's hard to read someone the first time, but you have your doubts that he's going to last long enough for either of you to get inside the other at this rate.

Somehow, you find you're absolutely fine with that. This is just a _first_ time, not a one-time, something you know in your bones without speaking it.

(Do you love him? No. It's too new to even call it infatuation, forget love. But you've done something to each other and you're willing to stick around to find out _what_ that is, with a good helping of sex along the way.)

One of his hands is gripping your hip, and digs in hard enough that his nails break skin. You shudder freely, muttering curses, and kiss your way along his jaw. His hips jump and thrust against you, and you do the bit where you run a finger inside of his slit again, because that seemed to go over well the first time, and it goes over well this time, too. He throws his head back, almost bashing the tip of one horn into your face, and makes an inhuman sound too loud to really be called a moan but too full-throated to be called a growl. His hips jerk frantically under yours, and hot fluid drips down onto your hand.

It's hot and gorgeous, the way you can see every muscle in his neck, and it only takes a few short strokes to himself yourself off between his legs, your hand slick with him. You moan and collapse against his chest, breathing heavily. 

Eventually it occurs to you to do a basic mop-up of your finish, and you pull down the rag you keep flung over the headboard for that purpose. You'll still have to deal with a damp spot, but better than than a sticky puddle.

Sid wraps an arm up behind your waist, pulling you in close. Your lower back kind of hurts where he dug his fingers in, now that you only have afterglow to numb the pain, but you'll count it as worthwhile anyway. With a satisfied hum, you nuzzle in against his neck - he's warm enough to the touch that you're not even worried about blankets right now, though you'll probably wake up cold and regretting that in the morning.

Above your head, he asks, "Is it _always_ like that for humans?"

You can't help but laugh, pausing only to press a kiss to the scales on his neck. "You haven't even _seen_ how inventive humans can get."

"Oh." He pauses, shifting his weight under yours so that you're not completely on top of him. "Great?"

You can't tell if that was sarcastic or a genuine question, but you laugh again anyway and settle in to sleep.

\----

In the morning, you're only cold where your shoulder is sticking out from where Sid has somehow managed to turn most of the way into your little spoon, even if there's nothing little about him. He's practically a ball except for one stretched-out leg and his tail twitching slightly as he sleeps.

It's _unbearably_ cute. You almost don't want to disturb him, but fuck if you're paying for another day in this inn because you didn't get up and out of dodge fast enough, and you certainly can't _leave_ him. He's naked and scaly and probably doesn't have any money.

You leave numerous warnings about waking sleeping dragons unheeded and elbow him in the ribs. "Hey, get up, we've got to get out of here."

You get a groan and annoyed, slit eyes for a response, but then he stretches like a yawning cat, arms and legs both pulled forward in front of him until they cross, and sits up. "Ugh."

You leave him to get his thoughts in order - because you can still sort of half-feel them, and they're a sleep addled mess - while you get dressed.

"Can you turn into a bird and fly out the window?" you ask, when he hesitates at the clothes you've piled on the end of the bed from where they'd gotten tossed last night. "It'd be easier to get out unnoticed."

He blinks, then shakes his head. "Not without... Going back to my natural form, first."

Ah. Well. That's a problem, isn't it. You're not quite sure how big he is now, but the room is crammed tight enough that you doubt he'd _fit_.

"Fine," you say, pulling his cloak from its hook and shaking it out. "You'd better figure out how to put those back on, then."

To his credit, he only needs your help with knotting up the bootlaces. You suppose he must have observed humans other than you somewhere down the line, considering that and the fact that he can even speak your language. You toss the cloak at him and he wraps it around his shoulders, only getting the hood _briefly_ stuck on his horns.

It's hard to dismiss him now that you know what's under there, but it's also as good as you figure it's going to get. "Let's go," you say, and lead him out, using the discreet back steps after you drop your key through the slot where it belongs.

It's still technically morning, which means the Ishgardian air is chill enough that you shiver a little under your own cloak, all too eager to make your way out of the city. Though, there's a wild idea niggling at the back of your head - and you have the distinct idea that it doesn't belong to you.

You're just too Ishgardian to think of going to Dravania for answers on your own. You shake snow from your hair and twist to look up into Sid's hood. " _Really_? You can't _possibly_ think that heading west is a good idea."

You can't see much of him, but you can still tell that his shoulder rise and fall in a shrug. "I've been there before. Where do you think I spent most of my time? It wasn't back in _Othard_."

Okay, fair. Even getting to the Far East and back takes near half a year, in a fast ship with favorable winds. You've met a few traders who make the journey. "Still..." you mutter. 

Maybe he's welcome, but he's one of their kind. You're Ishgardian - even if other humans were welcome, you almost certainly are not.

Sid must hear the thought, because he chuckles. "You'd be surprised. Besides, you'd be with me, wouldn't you?"

You frown, but don't deny it. If it were you alone, you'd go far the other direction and hope for the best at the fringes of the Shroud again. "You're hoping they can tell us something." It's not a question.

"We're more likely to get answers there than _here_ ," he points out, quite reasonably.

You sigh. "Fine. West it is."

To Dravania, and - whatever the future holds.


End file.
